Who could ever learn to love a beast?
by Shawntail
Summary: 'Sherlock' and 'Beauty and the Beast' crossover. To save his sister from the fate of a prisoner of a hideous beast, John offers to take her place. But are things really as they seem?


Hello! This is my first attempt at a Sherlock-fic and also my first cross over so I'm sorry if it's not as good as I wish it to be. I was watching Sherlock not too long ago, while at the same time Beauty and the Beast was on TV and I thought it would be funny to mix the two stories!

I do not have a beta for this story and I would really appreciate it if someone would be willing to take on the difficult task of being my beta. My English isn't fantastic but I'm learning and willing to learn more in order to offer my readers acceptable English sentences. So, if any of you is interested, please contact me!

Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own Beauty and the Beast, nor do I own Sherlock in any form or any way! (And that sometimes makes me very sad *sniffle*)

_Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shiny castle. Although he had everything his heart desired the prince was spoiled, selfish and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances for beauty is found within. When he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away, to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize but it was too late, for she had seen__ that there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of its monstrous form, the beast concealed itself inside its castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered, was truly an enchanted rose which would bloom until his 21__st__ year. If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope…..For who could ever learn to love a beast? _

John exited the cosy little house he lived in, leaning heavily on the new metal cane he had received from his sister. She had taken one suspicious look at the old wooden crutch he had received from the town physician back at the inn, and had pushed her latest experiment aside to make her brother a sturdier and more comfortable means for hobbling about. For hobble was all he could do, these days. Barely 20 years old, John had been called to service to serve his king in some faraway land. Having trained as a doctor under the elderly physician that was responsible for the wooden monstrosity, as his sister called it, John had been sent to the battlefield to provide assistance to his wounded countrymen. Never directly stranded in the heat of battle, the young man had been able to leave several fights unscathed for over 5 years. However, his luck had run out during a particularly violent attack. He had been tending to a young soldier who'd been shot in the leg when he had felt a strong blow against his back, followed by an explosion of pain in his left shoulder. Gritting his teeth against the screams of agony that had threatened to spill from his throat, John had turned his attention back to his wounded charge when he had found the vacant, lifeless eyes staring into his own blue ones. The moment his gaze had shifted to the leg wound and had focussed on the protruding bone shards glistening with blood, the pain in his shoulder had been outstripped by a feeling of sheer torment radiating from his own leg, drowning everything else. When the battle had finally been over, another field doctor had found him, babbling incoherently to the young boy's dead face and cradling his leg like it was going to fall off any moment.

That incident effectively slammed shut the door of his military career and had him sent off to the field hospital to either recover from his injury or roll over and die. Since John had never been the type to just take the easy way out (and rolling over just made him dizzy anyway), he had made a rather fast recovery and was pronounced healthy enough to go home again after 4 weeks of hospitalization. He was informed, however, that he would never be able to exercise his profession of physician again, the reasons being the intermittent tremor in his left hand which was probably caused by the psychological stress that weighed heavily on the shoulders of the soldier, and the limp in his right leg. This had puzzled his colleagues because there had been no actual wound to answer for the handicap that had ruined his chances of a normal life. Nobody would want a man who couldn't even walk straight without help, let alone a man who would have extreme difficulty finding a job. Yes, as far as John Watson was concerned his life as he had known it was over and the only choice he'd had, was to return to his parental house where his sister lived her unconventional life of drinking, experimenting and blowing windows out of their frames.

So that's how John came to live in his old quiet village again, limping around on his new metal cane, helping his sister fiddling away at her weird machines and occasionally venturing into town to search for a new book. Books were the only means of escape for the ex-soldier, for although he liked the villagers as much as anyone who had grown up in the small but friendly community could, things were just so _dull_. Everyone just went about their lives like they had always done and like they always would, nothing ever _happened._ Even though John had seen and experienced enough trouble for a lifetime he couldn't help but long for a bit of adventure, excitement, anything to keep him from being swallowed whole by the deadening monotony of mundane life.

Slowly making his way through the streets, John pretended he didn't notice the whispers that reached his ears like wisps of smoke, softly floating on a breeze of gossip and gently reaching his ears before being blown away by the steady murmurs coming from the shops. He knew what the townspeople thought of him. It wasn't that they _disliked _him or anything; it was just that they thought he wasn't entirely normal. Having been one of few who had been sent to the battlefield, John knew that the others would never understand the horrors he had seen, would never grasp the full meaning behind the concept of war. He did not blame them for this, how could he? The thing was that because of the war, John had changed. Not so much that he had undergone a complete metamorphosis of character like some of his fellow soldiers, but enough to make him more withdrawn and less trusting than he once had been. His view of the world had changed, had widened as he had seen and experienced more in those last 5 years than he had in his whole pre-war lifetime. He had seemed to take a careful step forward while the rest of the town had been standing still, content with what they had and did, not even remotely interested in looking past the end of their noses. They thought it a shame that a young man like himself would rather lose himself in books other than linked to his profession (he had lost the motivation of keeping up to speed with the latest discoveries in medicine and instead had found himself browsing the bookshelves for stories of adventure and suspense) and found it a downright disgrace that he would rather have his eyes glued to the pages of a book than on the pretty girls in town. He was after all nearing his thirtieth year and most ladies thought it wise for him to marry and quietly settle down. He had received a rather nice sum of money as some sort of compensation for his services and as he was believed to be rather handsome with his calm, blue eyes and short mousy hair (why anyone would find that attractive was beyond John's reach of understanding), mothers were eyeing him with a calculating look that sent shivers up the man's spine. Most of the girls however weren't even remotely romantically interested in the limping and battle-scarred man and those that did spare him a second glance quickly forgot all about him when a _certain someone_ waltzed through the streets.

Jim Moriarty was perhaps not the strongest man in town, but he definitely was the most charismatic as he promenaded around the village, showing off his hunting trophies and just being irritably conscious of his effect on most of the women and some of the men as well. There was just something about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright and left your heart tingling with a sensation that most people mistook for love or excitement. John however, had always known the true meaning of these alarming symptoms he had whenever Jim graced him with his company; it was _danger…evil_. John didn't know why he thought of Moriarty as dangerous, he had after all never seen him do anything criminal or something like that. He just didn't trust him, didn't trust the cold and hungry look in his eyes every time they seemed to cross, didn't trust the possessive hand that would always be there on his shoulder, his back and – God have mercy- one time even on his leg, his bad one. Those calculating fingers had squeezed his upper leg, finding the muscle that seemed to control the level of pain in the limb and crushing it slowly, making John tremble in pain and swatting away the offending hand. Moriarty had simply looked at him and smiled, focusing on John with a look that he could later only describe as being filled with something close to sadistic pleasure.

The sense of foreboding that always made John's injured shoulder seize up with tension crashed over him as he walked out of the bookshop, his favourite story safely tucked away under his elbow as he slowly made his way to the grocer to buy some milk and tea. Groaning softly, John quickly hid behind a rather beautiful fountain that was surrounded by sheep as he saw Andersen, Moriarty's sidekick, round the corner on top speed, carrying a bag which was bursting with dead ducks. Crouching between the curious sheep, John could just make out a dark silhouette when a rather loud bang plagued his ears, causing two woolly animals to crash against him in fear. With a yelp, John lost his balance and fell, his cane propelled from his hand and skidding away over the wet cobblestones that covered the square. Muttering curses pointed to the person who had spotted the unfortunate doctor and was now walking towards him, gun in hand and grin plastered firmly on his face, John tried to sit up and searched for his cane. Seeing the wanted object suddenly in front of his nose, he slowly looked up and, upon seeing the small but strong fingers wrapped around the handle, sighed in defeat. Mission failed.

'Johnny boy! What on earth are you doing down there?'

'Hello Jim' John mumbled, all but yanking the cane out of the offered hand and scrambling to his feet a little less graceful than he'd intended. No matter how much he disliked the man, he did not want to leave the impression that he was completely helpless and clumsy. Looking away from the cold, dark eyes in front of him, John spotted his book…firmly between the teeth of a sheep that was contently munching its way through the fourth chapter.

'Oh no, you don't! Give me that, you silly woolly mammal!' Carefully, John pulled the book from the sheep's mouth, earning a rather offended 'baaaaaaaaaaah!' in the process. Patting the pouting animal on the head, John noticed with relief that the creature had only eaten the corners and that the text, while a bit damaged, was overall still readable. However, his relief was short-lived when Moriarty snatched the book out of his hands and quickly thumbed through it, disgust radiating from his eyes as he held the story like one would handle a skunk.

'I'll never understand why you like reading so much John! There aren't any pictures in it, so boring! I think it's unfortunate that you should always bury yourself in these books, live a little!'

With these words, Moriarty carelessly threw the book on the street where it landed in a puddle of mud. Setting his jaw, John quickly rounded the other man and carefully kneeled on the ground, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg as he did so. Picking up his book, John tenderly wiped the mud away with his shirt. While doing this he avoided looking Moriarty in the eyes and he felt his cheeks redden at the image they displaced: he, the ex-soldier, kneeling at the feet of the charismatic Jim from IT (Intriguing Trades or to put it bluntly: smuggling, not that anyone in the village would admit that their golden boy was involved in any trade of _that _kind). How humiliating.

Clearly not getting the attention he wanted, Moriarty sighed and grabbed John by the arm, hauling him back to his feet and hooking his arm over the man's shoulders.

'It's not right for a real man to read as obsessively as you do! Soon he starts getting weird ideas…thinking strange things… Why don't you just focus on other things, things that are more important? Like me.'

Frowning at the arm that was currently holding his left shoulder, John almost missed the final words Moriarty whispered in his ear. Repressing the shiver that tingled up and down his spine, the doctor smiled grimly before shaking off Moriarty's arm and taking a few steps back, cane bumping loudly on the stones. The other man just grinned and followed John, like the hunter closing in on his prey, fingers twitching by his sides.

'Come on John, let's go to the inn, I could show you my new hunting trophies and we could have a drink together, it could be so much fun.'

Eyes darting back and forth, John was desperately looking for a way out when a loud BANG resonated through the streets, momentarily stunning the ex-soldier as he was propelled back to the battlefield for a split second. The book in his hand turned into a gun and Moriarty became the enemy as he kept advancing slowly, hands raised to grab John's shoulders. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the flashback ended and John was standing once again in the old and familiar street, book in his hands and his annoying acquaintance still hovering in front of him like a really stubborn insect, looking around for the source of the noise.

Realising what had happened; John grabbed his chance of escape and placed his cane 'accidently' behind Moriarty's feet, tripping the other man in the process.

'I'm sorry Jim but I really can't. My sister seems to have blown something up again and I really have to get home to help her in case she has injured herself. Doctor, you know?'

At this point, Andersen appeared behind his boss's back and dropped the spoils of Moriarty's hunt at his feet.

'Hahaha, that crazy little witch? She needs all the help she can get!'

John saw Moriarty's lips twitch upwards in a sardonic grin and unconsciously shifted his weight to his two feet, adopting the fighting stance that had been ingrained through his military training and temporarily forgetting his limp. He and his sister weren't the best of friends, but that didn't mean John liked others to slight Harry. She was a drunk and far too interested in things that exploded but she was his sister and he loved her (a little more or a little less, depending on what she'd blow up).

'Don't talk about my sister that way!'

Sensing the danger he was in by laughing at the probably half-blown up woman, Moriarty quickly turned around and gave Andersen a hard bop on the head.

'Don't talk about his sister in that way, it's hardly fitting for a companion of IT to use that sort of language.' This was said in the drawled tone the man usually used when being bored, but there was a sharp undertone that made Andersen flinch and swallow his angry retort.

'My sister is not crazy! I wouldn't call her a genius but her experiments are for the good of other people and-' Johns words were cut off by another explosion, this time causing a red cloud of dust to race through the air, giving the town a rather rosy tint. This triggered a fresh bout of laughter from Andersen as Moriarty stared in horror at his crisp and undoubtedly expensive hunting suit that was now a sickly shade of pink.

Ignoring the angry muttered words that came from the utterly flabbergasted hunter ('Westwood!'), John quickly limped back to his house, praying that his sister hadn't done anything stupid, like blowing up their last teapot!

This was the first chapter and a very long one at that! I don't think the others will be this long (if there's anyone who wants other chapters of course), but I wanted to introduce John and everything that had happened to him properly. I hope I was able to maintain at least a bit of the original personality of the characters. I try to keep them as they are but at the same time I want to present the 'Beauty and the Beast' characters' personality as well. Please let me know what you think! Reviews are much appreciated as feedback!


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